Thought Shower
by Capponi
Summary: Dare you delve into the more private life of Hannibal Lecter in the asylum?Warning!Only true Lecter obsessives may apply[NOTE:This is a revised version of the good ole' original..check it out]
1. Default Chapter

Usual disclaimer applies

Found my very first fanfiction attempt and decided to revise it ever so slightly…space the text out and stuff mostly but I enriched some of the story too…Enjoy!

THOUGHT SHOWER

Dante's Inferno and Baltimore state Hospital for the criminally insane share a similar structure when it comes to the placement of evil, the worst goes to the bottom. In Dante's Inferno we find Satan himself at the very bottom, desperately flapping his leathery wings as to pull himself out of the pool that holds him, in the hospital we find the maximum-security ward.

For Dante's pilgrim there is also a haven at this screaming base, his escape and freedom. For Dr. Hannibal Lecter, its the scrap of peaceful freedom in the form of the lengthy showering room.

As you are reading this fiction, I assume that you, like me, are an admirer of the Doctor or else you are just reading random fics. If you are the latter, I suggest you leave now as this following passage can only be truly appreciated by true Lecter obsessives, admirers and avid fans…

Thank-you, now we may continue.

Now, what if you were actually in the infamous hospital right now, follow me and we will proceed to that very place. Now, where should we go first? Oh, of course. Basement floor, maximum- security wing, last cell. Very well, there we shall venture.

As we pass down the corridors we are only seen as spirit like figures, not even really visible, as we are only here in our minds eye, doors hold no authority to us. Down the tiled staircase, the smells of hot plastic and disinfectant fill our noses as we descend, down and down. Finally we reach the black gate and slip past, undetected by Barney, engrossed in 'Great Expectations'.

Steps quickening as we come ever closer to our goal but as we reach that fabled barred front we see the opening loose, the netting hung down behind, the cell quite empty. Shall we enter? Okay, but only briefly as we have someone to meet. Inside the cool stone cell now, fingers grazing over the sketches and annotated graphs spread on his desk, rolling a pencil along, fitting your palm to a charcoal sketch of his own.

Moving slowly to his rumpled bed, the imprint of a person still slightly imprinted and as we sit wee can still feel a slight heat from it. He must have been sitting here before he left, we must soon do the same. Go ahead, lie where he lies, stretch your body into the space where he sleeps and nuzzle your face into his pillow, catch the light scent of his hair. Out now, another short journey ahead of us as we seek out our reason for coming. Don't worry, he is close, and we shall seek him.


	2. And we continue

Short journey and we are outside a stainless steel locked door. Outsides stand or sit four orderlies, discussing the results of the latest hockey match. They do not notice us and we slip past, through the door and into the locked room beyond. On first entering we are both blinded and smothered with a thick cloud of steam that seems to completely fill the long room. The heat of the suspended moisture takes a while to adjust to as does the poor visibility but gradually we can see the dull yellow of the tiled floor submerged in about an inch of hot water and then a long row of shower cubicles, about 6 on either side, each full on with their doors pulled wide open creating the spray and steam. Someone was in here that didn't want his or her scarce times of total peace disturbed. As we continue down the corridor we are soaked by the steam and flecked with water streaks.

At the end of the long room we start to see a wooden box-table emerging from the cloudy atmosphere. It can be used for either hanging towels or placing the mace and cuffs if things got nasty. But fight now, its being used for a different reason. Slowly creeping into our vision, a lone figure is seen to be sitting on this table, half slouched with their feet half submerged in water. We can now see that the figure is a man then we realise its not just any man but the sole purpose of our visit. Hannibal Lecter.

You can take your time as you take him in for he is absorbed in thought and unaware of our presence. He sits half slid down on his table seat, toes scrunched slightly to support his weight. From this note, we let our eyes wander up his legs, past his ankles and calves, beaded with water from his shower ad the accumulating steam clouds, past his knees, one flattened, one bent to accommodate his position and up to the towel wrapped loosely around his waist, falling to mid-thigh. Past and up to his belly, the beaded water quivering and dripping at every breath that expands and contracts his pale skin. Our eyes slide to his defined hips, distinctly masculine yet slightly curved like that of a woman. It fits well with his Western European features.

Further up on his chest we can see the slight out line of his ribcage from his great distaste and distrust of asylum food though great strength is still evident in both his chest, arms and hands. His nipples are dark and shadowy against his sun deprived skin and ever so slightly erect from the cooling room, and as our eyes widen at the sight a bead of water courses around and past his left one to gather in his naval. As we travel up again we linger on the curves and hollows of his collarbone and jaw line. As his face is still bent down in thought we instead examine his spread arms on either side of the table, hands clasped at the edge, long, slim fingers tapering as they curve around the bench.

The smooth, pale skin of his arms is also beaded in droplets; curves and dips reveal the wiry muscle structure in them, his hands are thin yet capable looking, long elegant fingers curled around the wood. Ah! Finally his head rises, although he is still apparently still lost in a memory or particularly interesting thought. His dark, emotive eyes glare straight ahead; clear and sharp like a whip crack - the kind of gaze that could pin you down with a glance. He is still unaware or uncaring of our presence.

His dark hair hangs longer than he usually has it and due to the shower is not slicked back but hangs dripping either side of his slightly pointed face, a few strands stuck to his damp skin. His normally pale skin on his face and body is flushed in certain places by the showers hot blast.

From his beautifully bewitching, slightly haunting eyes, our gaze travels down his almost perfectly straight nose, that gives his fine featured face an almost vulpine quality and drops to his dusky lips, ever so slightly pouted in thought. Any further inspection of this glorious creature before us is interrupted by a buzzer sounding through the haze of steam, like smoke after a gunning.

Sighing in annoyance he pulls himself from his retreat and pushes himself lightly to his feet, his damp hair swinging back slightly. As we watch, he turns in our direction, tongue flicking out momentarily as his eyes scan the empty steam, empty for we are leaving, floating back to our own reality and leaving him to his own.

But as you are placed back where you began, sitting before a glowing monitor, eyes scanning the text. I think you realise you'll be back in his world before long, don't you?


End file.
